


The Cadre {1920s AU/Chapter 2}

by tacmc



Series: The Cadre [3]
Category: Throne of Glass - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27071248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacmc/pseuds/tacmc
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Rowan Whitethorn
Series: The Cadre [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752127
Kudos: 3





	The Cadre {1920s AU/Chapter 2}

“I wasn’t aware you knew Rowan Whitethorn.”

“I wasn’t aware you knew Rowan Whitethorn.”

“I did know him, at one point, just barely,” Lysandra said. “A long time ago. Before he became who he is. Before the war.”

Aelin nodded, slowly. Lysandra had come over early in the morning, right to her studio flat, after leaving before her client from the night before could wake up. Aelin, as always, welcomed her with open arms the moment Lysandra knocked on the door. Aelin preferred Lysandra stayed with her as much as possible. It was much better than staying at the house with Clarisse. 

Madame Clarisse was a bitch, to say it politely. 

“Is that all I get?” Aelin asked, brows raised as she pulled her knees up to her chest, atop her bed. “And here I thought I was going to get a hell of a story.”

Lysandra rolled her eyes from where she sat in the tub, just filled with warm water. She always felt the need to bathe after being with a client. Whenever she left them, she felt dirty, filthy, ashamed.

Taking a nice, warm bath helped wash away the impurities. 

Even the ones that could never fully be washed away. 

“I had just turned fifteen,” she said. “He was only a year older. My mother had just sold me to Clarisse. Rowan’s father had been close with Clarisse, a good friend, a generous client. He had brought Rowan along with him one morning, but he never came in, Rowan. He had waited outside, as had I. We’d gotten to talking,” Lysandra said, shrugging as she scrubbed her arms with Aelin’s lavender soap. “We became friends, of sorts. Clarisse began training me, and Rowan came around every so often. One day, he had been running errands with his father, who had stopped by the House…Rowan found me outside, crying, because I had to give myself to a client for the first time that night.”

“And he cared?” Aelin asked, shocked as she pulled a cigarette out of the drawer of her nightstand. “You talk of him as if you were fond of him.”

“I was,” Lysandra said, simply. “I didn’t love him, by any means, or even fancy him that way…but, he was kind. Because of that, I asked him if he would be my first. And he was.”

Aelin paused, cigarette halfway to her lips, unlit. “Rowan Whitethorn was your first?”

“Not my first client, he didn’t pay,” Lysandra clarified, as she sunk her body beneath the water. “But my first time, yes. He made it so that my first time wasn’t with this old, rich bastard that lasted thirty seconds and fell asleep two minutes after we were done.”

Aelin’s brows furrowed as she lit a match and stuck the tip of her cigarette into the flame. “You never told me.”

“Didn’t seem necessary,” she said, staring up at the ceiling. “I was grateful to him, though. He was gentle. The only gentle lover I’ve ever had. But he was a different man, then. Only a boy. It was only a few months later that his father passed, and only a little over a year before he was shipped off to war. Last night…I barely recognized him. He used to smile, used to laugh. Used to joke. There used to be a light in his eyes. That light wasn’t there last night. And when he smiled…it was different.”

Aelin stayed quiet as she laid in bed, smoking. Her and Rowan’s families went way back. She had never known Rowan, personally, just of him, had only seen him in passing. But, she knew that Aelin’s father and Rowan’s were sworn enemies. It was why Aelin was so shocked when Rhoe had told her that the Cadre would be around a lot more, that they had been working out a deal.

Business.

Money.

It was always about the fucking money. 

And she wouldn’t forget the way Rowan watched her on stage any time soon. He had undressed her with his eyes, slowly, tauntingly. It wasn’t unusual. Aelin had seen men look at her like that before. But, when Rowan did it, it caught her off guard.

It was almost as if he was doing it sadistically. 

“Speaking of men,” Aelin went on, steering the subject away from Rowan Whitethorn, “Aedion walked me home last night and the entire fucking time, Lys, all he could talk about was how beautiful you looked in your ruby dress last night.”

Lysandra laughed, eyes brightening. “He was drunk, wasn’t he?”

“A little tipsy,” Aelin confessed. “But it is drunk people that always tell the truth.” 

Shaking her head, Lysandra closed her eyes. “Aedion only fancies me because he can’t ever have me.” 

“Says who?” Aelin asked, and it wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last.

Lysandra didn’t answer, though. “Clarisse is giving me the night off. I thought I’d go to the picture house. Will Rhoe let you off for the night? We could go together then get a drink afterwards.”

“I’m sure,” Aelin crooned. “I work my ass off there too much. I deserve a ladies’ night out.” 

“And if he says no?” Lysandra crooned, looking across the space at Aelin.

Aelin grinned. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve disobeyed my father. Nor will it be the last. Now, hop out of that tub and let’s get dressed.”

“Mind telling me what the rush is?” she chuckled. “Not that I mind a day full of excitement.” 

“I’ve got to run into town,” Aelin sighed. “Pick up a new pair of shoes and some stockings. Then, I’m taking my best friend to luncheon because I love her so very much.”

“Is that so?” Lysandra asked. “And where are you taking her?”

“Wherever she wants to go,” Aelin said, winking. “So, hop out. I’ve got a scarlet skirt with a matching hat that is going to look fabulous on you.”

~~~~~

Rowan pulled his suspenders up over his shoulders before tugging his hat down over his head. After grabbing his jacket, he hurried down the stairs and out of the house.

It was a good house, although compact, the one he shared with the others. They each had their own rooms, which was truly all that mattered. Maeve used to live there, too, but had moved out while they were away at war - although, she sent someone in from time to time to keep the space clean.

And clean it was, if not much else.

On the corner of the street sat a pub, where Lorcan was lying on the bartop, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Rowan asked, in way of greeting.

“I am,” he muttered, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. 

“Then pour me a glass of whiskey,” Rowan said, leaning up against the bar. 

The pub had belonged to Rowan’s father, and was left to Rowan once he died. Rowan didn’t want it, though. Even before the war, too much had fallen on him. He’d given it to Lorcan, although Maeve ran it in their absence, just like she had run everything else.

Now that he was back, Rowan knew fully well that Lorcan was excited to be back behind a bar. Even if the business of the Cadre took him away from it many nights. 

“It’s not even noon, yet,” Lorcan said, jumping onto the ground. “Not that I disapprove, but that typically means you’re in a bad mood.” 

“It was a long night,” Rowan said, and it was all the answer Lorcan would get.

It had been a long night. After they left Rhoe’s club, Rowan was dragged to a warehouse a block from the pub where a fighting circle had formed. He’d collected bets, tossed in his two cents, and made a small fortune off a room full of poor, drunk bastards. He’d gotten home just after four. 

He hadn’t slept. 

The second he closed his eyes, he saw too much. 

“Have you heard from Maeve this morning?” Lorcan asked, setting a glass of whiskey in front of Rowan.

“She got a call from Eyllwe late last night,” Rowan confirmed. “First shipment will arrive in a week. I’ll have to go to the docks tomorrow, make sure everyone knows what to do. Kick out anyone out who won’t follow protocol.” 

“I’ll come with,” Lorcan said. “Gav, too.”

Rowan didn’t have time to reply, because the door swung open and a young, petite woman came inside. 

She had short, black hair, nearly brushing her shoulders. She wore a hat of crimson and a long, black coat. She smiled once she caught their attention, just as the door closed behind her.

Rowan recognized her immediately.

“I’m here about the barmaid position,” she said. “Saw it in yesterday’s advertisement. Is it still open?”

“Yes,” Lorcan said, just as Rowan said, “No.”

The young woman hesitated.

“You work for Rhoe,” Rowan said, simply. She had been on stage, singing behind Aelin Galathynius. 

“I sing with Aelin sometimes, yes,” she replied, clutching her bag. “She’s a good friend of mine.”

“Your name?” Lorcan asked.

“Elide,” she supplied. “Lochan.” 

“And do you have any prior experience?” he asked.

Rowan grunted. It was obvious that Lorcan found her attractive, which meant he didn’t care what protests came out of Rowan’s mouth. 

“I do,” she said. “I help out at the Fireheart, and there used to be a little pub across town that I worked at. It burned down about a year ago.” 

Lorcan watched her for a long moment, and Rowan imagined he was thinking about everything but her work as a barmaid. 

“Do you have references?” Rowan asked, at last.

“Of course,” she replied, and handed her slip to Rowan. 

Lorcan was still watching her with hungry eyes. 

Rowan read over the short list of references, one of which was Rhoe Galathynius himself. 

“You’re young,” Rowan said, scanning his eyes over the paper. “To be working for a man like Rhoe Galathynius, and to be hoping to be a barmaid.”

“As are you,” she said, confidently, slightly amused. “Young for what you do.”

Rowan snorted. “True, but I’m not a pretty woman. Pretty women around here seem different from you.”

Elide’s cheeks turned a soft shade of pink, standing out among the crimson shade of her hat. 

“You come from Perranth,” Rowan continued, looking at the slip she had sent. “From a good family, if I am to judge correctly.”

“Do you usually judge correctly?” Elide asked, quietly.

Rowan sat down his glass of whiskey and reached across the bartop for one of Lorcan’s cigarettes. He struck a match, and lit the tip, the other end between his lips.

“I like to think so,” Rowan said, at last. “You have nice clothes, you sound well-educated, and you are fully aware how to carry yourself. So, Miss Lochan, please tell me why you wish to be employed as a barmaid, a position that is far too lowly for a woman of your standing?”

When Elide didn’t answer, Rowan asked, “Does Rhoe know you’re here? Or, better yet, did he send you here himself?”

“Rowan,” Lorcan warned, voice low. 

“No,” Elide answered. She raised her chin. “I came here because I’ve taken up a new apartment, and the rent is high. I am simply looking for income, Mr. Whitethorn.”

“So you know who I am,” Rowan said. 

There was no hesitation when she said, “We all know who you are. You, and your men. It is not such a large city after all, Mr. Whitethorn.”

“Or, maybe,” Rowan began, “you just know the right people. And those people have told you about me. What they’ve told you, I’d be curious to know.” 

“I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed,” Elide said. “I don’t know much.”

“Do you truly know who I am?” Rowan asked, head cocked. “Who we are? What we do?”

Elide didn’t answer.

“This pub here is a part of our organization,” Rowan stated, simply. “Your secrecy is necessary, if you wish to be under our employment. I’m certain you will hear things, from time to time, and you will not repeat those things outside of these walls.”

“I give you my word, Mr. Whitethorn,” Elide swore, her dark eyes meeting his. 

“Your word is a serious thing to give,” Lorcan said, the first thing he’d said in quite some time. “Do you know what happens to those who give us their word and break it?” 

“I do,” she replied, without missing a beat. “As Mr. Whitethorn implied, I am very well educated.” 

Rowan looked at Lorcan across the bar, brow raised. “Well. It’s your pub. Your call.”

Lorcan took a long, deep breath. He needed help. Couldn’t do it all by himself, and he wanted to keep Maeve away from the pub as much as possible, as did Rowan. But he thought a different type of woman would present herself.

Not the lady before them.

“I’ll give you a trial period,” Lorcan said. “You’ll be paid, of course, and I expect you to be able to start immediately. Be back tonight. Seven.”

Elide’s back straightened as she nodded her thanks. “I will see you at seven, then. Thank you.”

She turned and exited the pub, leaving Rowan and Lorcan in silence.

After a moment, Lorcan leaned across the bar. “What the fuck just happened?” 

“We got ourselves someone who knows quite a bit, it seems, about Rhoe Galathynius,” Rowan said, downing the rest of his glass. 

~~~~~

Aedion walked through a shop of jewels.

It was the day after payday, and Rhoe had paid him well. Rhoe had promised him, too, that after this deal with the Cadre, his pay would only increase.

As much as Aedion didn’t like dealing with the likes of them, he sure as hell didn’t mind getting paid more.

Which is why he paid his landlord the minute he woke up then went into the city, where he found himself skimming case upon case of exquisite jewelry. His eyes landed on an emerald pendant.

It reminded him of her eyes.

He bought it.

It took his entire pay and then some, but he bought it. Lysandra may not want to be with him, but he could still let her know that he cared.

Because he really fucking cared. 

He’d made it a block down the road when he realized he was being followed. It wasn’t unusual for a man like Aedion to be followed, when he worked for the man that he worked for. 

He was armed. 

Nonetheless, when he made it down the block, he snuck into an alleyway and waited, hand resting on the hilt of his gun.

Aedion was joined a minute later by a man, older than he was. He didn’t attack, and he kept his distance. Aedion was certain he was armed, too, but he didn’t show it.

“Aedion Ashryver,” the man said.

“Who wants to know?” he asked.

“You’re being summoned,” the man said. “I can take you willingly or by force.”

“Won’t be necessary,” Aedion said. “I’ll go willingly if you give me a name.”

The man cocked his head as he took Aedion in. “Arobynn Hammel wishes to see you.”


End file.
